Chapter 8

EIGHT

Ava

The McGill's estate—'cause it's not just a house—is a revelation. We're not just talking silver spoons here. It looks like a French chateau. I've driven by this place a dozen times, but I never knew who lived there. It's wild to me that I'm finally on the other side of the fence.

I'm in Ranger's truck. It's weird to say it, but I like watching him drive. That complete confidence he has in himself and the way his strong hands just drape over the steering wheel. Of course, any time I look at Ranger's hands I start to remember all the things he can do with them. All the things he already did. And that I so badly want him to do again.

I've never had anyone make me feel the things that he did. It wasn't just the incredible sex, though God knows it was perfection. It was the comfort, the ease of being with him. I don't typically spend the night with my partners or let them spend the night with me. Fucking someone is one thing. But trusting them enough to lay down and go to sleep beside them? Yeah, that's big. Big enough and scary enough that I'm just not going to think about it. Not today anyway. For now, I'm just going to enjoy it.

Up ahead, I see a massive structure that looks like a "mini" version of the house. "Is that the stable?"

"One of them," he says. "There's another one that's a little bigger on the other end of the property. But that's the one I'll be working out of today."

Yeah, the horses live way better than I do. I know that. I knew it before we got here, but when I step inside the stable, I can't even take it all in. Walking in, there's a giant shower that is lined with Carrara marble tile.

"They have a nicer bathroom than I do!"

"They still piss and shit in it," he says with a grin. "And they don't care if it's marble. They care if they get a treat for not kicking or biting while you scrub 'em down."

Well, that's perspective. "It doesn't faze you, does it? That just one of these horses is worth more than I'll ever see in my life?"

"You can't think about it. It's gotta be about the animal. At the end of the day, they count on us to take care of them. Whether it's a derby contender or a plow horse in the field, they need the same basic things from us. That's my job … taking care of them, so they can do their job, whatever that might be, safely and without injuring themselves or someone else. No animal is more dangerous than one that's in pain."

He loves it, I realize. He genuinely loves what he does. There's pride in his voice when he talks about it. And if these are the kind of clients that he's got, people who could hire anyone from anywhere in the world, then he must be damn good at it.

"So, you're like a horse therapist … Fix what's wrong so it stops with them. That's not so different from what I do."

He chuckles softly. "Hadn't really thought about it that way, but I'll admit there are similarities."

I stay quiet as he leads me to the area where he'll be working. There's a half wall to one side. "You stand behind there," he says. "You can see what's happening, but you'll be out of the kicking and biting zone."

"Do they kick and bite?"

"They can. I don't typically have that kind of problem with them, but they can be temperamental brats."

I go behind the wall and watch as he sets up his equipment. The big heavy cart he was pushing in is opened up, the sides folded back to reveal things I cannot identify. Well, until he presses a button, and the mini forge ignites. Even from a distance, I can feel the blast of hot air and see the shimmer in the air around it.

While it's heating up, he's setting up everything else. Putting on this weird chaps/apron thing to protect himself both from the hot tools and the horse. By the time he's done, one of the stable hands is leading in the first horse he's supposed to be working on. He's massive. Solid black and so shiny that you almost have to squint when looking at him. He's beautiful and he knows it.

"Stormy, you're a bad boy," Ranger says. He clearly has a great deal of affection for the horse. "What did he do? I just saw him two weeks ago."

"Sole bruise," the groom says. "He was being a dick." The young man looks up, sees me and blushes. "Sorry, ma'am."

Ma'am hurts me to my soul. Mostly because that boy looks twelve and he clearly thinks I don't. "No worries. I'm more offended by being called ma'am than by you calling that horse a dick."

The boy blushes, ducks his head and says not a word.

Ranger looks back at me with a grin. "Javier, you go on. I'll take care of Stormy here and give you a shout when I'm done."

Two and a half hours and five horses later, Ranger is packing up. The first one, Stormy the Bad Boy, as I've taken to calling him, took the longest. But I watched Ranger and the care he took with that horse's hoof. He was gentle with him, but thorough. It's easy to see why he's in demand.

"Bored yet?" he asks me while he stows his tools neatly in their case.

"Nope. I liked watching you work. You get all hot and sweaty with this super intense look on your face," I tell him. "Kinda like when you do other things."

"Let me get a shower and we'll revisit that," he says.

A few minutes later and a man in a cowboy hat comes walking toward us. Money. That's what this man exudes. Money.

"Ranger! Thanks for getting out here so quick," the man says. "Wanted to bring this to you personally."

Ranger takes the check the man is handing him and stuffs it in his pocket without even looking. "Thank you, Billy. Appreciate that."

Then the man looks at me. "You got a new assistant? She's sure as hell prettier than you."

Ranger doesn't laugh. In fact, he doesn't look all that pleased that McGill even noticed me. "Not an assistant. Just a good friend and interested observer. Ava Stanfield, Billy McGill."

The older man walks toward me and offers his hand. I can tell by the look on his face that he's interested. But not in me. No. He's the kind who is only interested in a woman if another man has her. This is a man who only wants what he has to take or steal.

He stops in front of me, a sleazy used car salesman kind of smile on his face. His veneers are too white. Uncomfortably white. "Billy McGill. Anytime you're interested in getting a better look at this operation, you come see me."

"Billy, I said good friend," Ranger interjects as he comes to stand beside me. He's close. So close I can feel the heat of him through our clothes. Then his arm snakes around my waist. "Stop hitting on her. Or do you want another expensive divorce?"

It's kind of a joke, but kind of not. It's there in his tone. I know what he sounds like when he's serious, and I know what he sounds like when he's not. That I can already differentiate the two when we've known each other for such a short time is a little scary. I glance at him out of the corner of my eye, and his expression is easy enough to read. He's super annoyed. Perversely, I kind of like that he's a little jealous. Not the crazy, possessive, thinks you're cheating if you say excuse me to a man. It's the "she's with me" kind of jealous that says he'll never let anyone touch me unless I want them to.

Billy McGill makes my skin crawl, but Ranger scares the hell out of me. So much that maybe I want to run and hide.

Mr. McGill grimaces. "The problem with working with someone for a long time is that they know too damn much and say too damn much. You get tired of his bullshit, darlin', you come see me."

And just like that, he waves and walks away.